


Everything's Relative

by luciferinasundaysuit



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:42:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferinasundaysuit/pseuds/luciferinasundaysuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Q-Tip takes shrapnel to the leg, Christeson worries, even if he doesn't let on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything's Relative

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Все относительно](https://archiveofourown.org/works/724179) by [Olya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olya/pseuds/Olya)



Q-Tip had refused to be cas-evaced. Doc had pulled shrapnel out of his leg, and he had refused to be cas-evaced. Christeson had supported him, because that's what he does, but damn. A piece of metal had been removed from Q-Tip's thigh, and he didn't think anything of it.

Christeson was proud, and impressed, and kind of turned on, but it was still probably not the smartest decision. Then again, smart decisions were apparently against the SOP in this war. Still, he was the dumb kid, not Q-Tip. Bone-head moves were his thing.

He was just glad Q-Tip was going to be okay. Now, Christeson helped him up into the truck, even though he insisted he didn't need help, which was how Christeson was sure he was fine. If a Marine said he was hurt badley enough to need help, death was knocking at his door and fucking selling Girl Scout cookies.

Gunny and the LT were sitting in the front of the truck, talking about Pappy and strategy and ways to not get schwacked. After Q-Tip had gotten in a comfortable position, he turned to Christeson.

"Yo, man, thanks. I'd 'a been fine, but thanks."

Christeson felt his lips twitch. Fine, his ass. Whatever, he wouldn't have expected anything less.

He reached out, placed his hand against Q-Tip's, not holding it, just touching.

"I'm just glad you're gonna be okay, Q-Tip."

"Evan."

"What?"

Q-Tip looked down at their hands and linked his pinky finger around Christeson's.

"Call me Evan."

"Okay. I'm glad you're going to be okay, Evan."

"Me too, Christeson."

"John."

Q-Tip - Evan - smirked at him, the fucker.

"Me too, John."

"Ornery fucker."

"You know it, man."

"Shut the fuck up and get some sleep," Christeson - John - said, not unkindly."

"Whatever, Ma."

"So not your mom."

Evan's eyes sparkled through the darkness.

"I guess not."

He leaned back and closed his eyes, hand still linked with John's.

They'd been avoiding this, dancing around it, but Evan's close call had put things into perspective.

Normally, he would worry, but in the truck, no one could see them but Gunny and the LT. He knew LT wouldn't care, not with the way he'd been looking at Colbert, and Gunny didn't give a fuck as long as nobody died.

Usually, this would be fucking terrifying, but here, now, it felt safe. Huh. LT was right. Everything's relative.


End file.
